


Finite-State Machine

by thehomefucker



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehomefucker/pseuds/thehomefucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoba taught him Blue. Ren always had a bit of an inkling what color might be, having been surrounded by Aoba all his life, but true-breathing life let him touch it. Taste the turquoise on Aoba’s neck; hold the cyan hidden in his hair; find the azure in his laugh and smile until he, too, felt a hue tugging up his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finite-State Machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epiproctan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiproctan/gifts).



> Suggested listening: I Was Born For This (Journey OST), Fi's Gratitude (Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword OST), Dearly Beloved (Kingdom Hearts OST)

The transition was difficult. Jolted from mechanical to organic--from black-white binary to the various shades of grey and Blue and translucent he’d never even seen in dreams--Ren teetered on mental collapse. The newness of autonomy made him feel small. Dwarfed by his own humanity, by sudden perception; by color. 

For a long time, Ren wept. He clenched his eyes and drove his palms into his sockets and Aoba held him. Wrapped him deep within his Blue. Smothered Ren’s distress, coaxed his tears and wicked them away with tiny cobalt kisses until refraction became somewhat tangible.

Aoba taught him Blue. Ren always had a bit of an inkling what color might be, having been surrounded by Aoba all his life, but true-breathing life let him touch it. Taste the turquoise on Aoba’s neck; hold the cyan hidden in his hair; find the azure in his laugh and smile until he, too, felt a hue tugging up his lips. Blue was comfortable, soothing as a hand to his forehead. A familiarity he curled into, snug and somewhat breezy. He loved the wideness, the sprawling sky, the feeling of tripping up stairs and being caught.

Then came Clear. Sometimes blue, like water, only a bit less solid. Flowing about both Aoba and he; filtering them through his hands. 

Processed through Ren’s previous hardware, Clear was an erratic sequence; rogue zeros Aoba often had to tuck away just to keep the Allmate from short-circuiting. But seen through Ren, through Sei, through what little he knew of the color Blue, Clear became extraordinary. Like sand below the water’s surface. Where Blue ended, Clear began. Solid. Predictable. A footing as the earth moved around them.

When Aoba slept, Ren worked over the day’s new green or a small sparkling gold he caught on someone’s cuff. Through the night, he pulled their edges. Wound them around his knuckles. Pressed the color into his core to keep it safe.

As he studied, a song slid in from out beyond the stars, a borealis shifting through the blinds. From the rooftops it purred. Poured over him. Relaxed him into comprehension.

One night Ren crept outside on his hands and knees to find the music was Clear, mask ajar, singing on the balcony. His flanging voice tasted incandescent. Hot as grass at noon. A welcoming tri-tone twirling off his tongue.

“Ren-san,” somehow Clear spoke around his song. “Am I disturbing you?”

“No.” Ren breathed. “Please. Don’t stop.”

From then on, they experienced midnight together, studying iridescents he could hear, but Clear was always gone by first light, having tucked him next to Aoba after Ren lost himself to slumber.

Ren felt strange without Aoba and restless without Clear. Like bugs under his skin, time itched when the two weren’t close. He found himself squirming, asking Aoba if they could just wander the streets. Looking up, following telephone poles, webbed in the heavy Blue of the night, watching.

Sometimes they found him. Other times, he was home when they returned. Aoba always invited him to join, Ren always insisted, and Clear always gave in, but only if he was allowed to stop for snacks to share.

If they were lucky, Clear would sing, filling Ren to bursting with color, with luna moths, ruffled in pink pollen. Humming teal. Sighing against his stomach, making him giggle. Sleep fluttering on his eyelashes, Aoba would press his back against Clear’s; Ren would nestle at his knee; and maybe, just maybe, Clear would pet his hair.

It took a while to screw up the courage, but Ren asked Aoba if they could have Clear. Articulating the colors he felt was difficult but he knew Aoba had them, too. That he loved the milk-color of Clear and the broken base-two of himself. Loved Clear’s long fingers and Ren’s new laugh and the midnight walks they all took, bumping shoulders, not daring to touch beyond an accident.

When they asked him, Clear cried. Flung himself to kiss Ren, then Aoba, then Ren until his laughing-sobs made him stop for air.

“Master,” Clear gulped. “Master is all right sharing Ren-san?”

“He loves you Clear,” Aoba thumbed a tear from Clear’s chin. “We love you.”

Clear thrummed. Glittered. Grabbed Ren’s neck and kissed him until daylight dawned behind his eyes, blue and shimmering and soft.

It wasn’t a difficult transition.


End file.
